Frienship in a Strange Sense
by Heroicagal
Summary: One shots of the friendship behind Sherlock and John and their adventures both good and bad. Requests are appreciated but I will not do slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: They aren't mine.**

Of Bullets and Barbs

The case was at a successful conclusion with the serial killer caught. Some might say that it was another rousing victory; Sherlock believed that's what John would say on his blog at least (or something like it). Sherlock was less than thrilled though. John, being the selfless and noble idiot that he was, had taken a bullet for him. Now John takes plenty of bullets for his friend but this one was literal. It had grazed his left calf and while no serious or permanent damage was done there was always his flash backs to the war and the fact that he did in fact get _shot_. Even John was not quite used to the feeling, though it wasn't his first time of being the recipient of a bullet. If he hadn't pushed Sherlock out of the way the world would more than likely have been short on consulting detective. Running his fingers through the curly black mop on his head Sherlock attempted to sift through the unwanted and unappreciated emotions. Worrying wouldn't help John, more than likely it would make him more upset and make things worse. As the car containing the captured criminal sped out of the parking lot Sherlock made up his mind to go to the hospital. Not because he was worried, he tried to reassure himself, but to see how John was and see when he would be useful again (of course he knew what rubbish this was but he didn't want the emotions and the concern and so he came up with an excuse to fulfill his desire to see his friend). He had turned to leave when he heard it. Anderson and Donavon were complaining and insulting Holmes as per usual. However today Anderson was in a particular mood and had decided to cross the line. He had another target for his mindless blather.

"It's bad enough we have to deal with the psychopath," He began as Sherlock rolled his eyes and corrected internally with a "highly functioning sociopath".

"But that nitwit who follows him like a dog, I think the name was Watson?" Holmes came to a halt and listened, his anger bristling.

"The only purpose he serves is to stroke the already huge ego of the Mighty Sherlock Holmes. The way I see it all he does is give assessments of victims that anybody who watches crime tele can give, allows himself to be Holmes's slave, and fawns over him and his "massive intellect". Probably got his "doctorate" online, the thick and simple sod he is, there's no way he could have passed medical school. Why else would he work in the military then? Because no one would take him and since the government is desperate found a perfect opportunity to seize a chance at a job he didn't deserve and with a well enough pay and rather nice benefits. Idiot nearly got himself killed while out there he's so stupid. Got shot in the shoulder and came home a hero while all he did was endanger himself and those around him by his ignorance. I know exactly why Holmes puts up with him. He is the only one in the world stupid enough to see anything beyond arrogance in the man. Holmes enjoys the constant amazement, servitude, and delusional praise he gives him. That's all the man is, his little dog who will do anything to get the admiration of a man as cold hearted as the devil himself. He's a fool to think he means anything to the creep. He cares for no one, especially somebody as idiotic as him." Anderson ranted with a flourish while Donavon seemed a bit on edge and uncomfortable. She didn't agree with him but she also didn't want to say anything in his defense, worried that people would think she actually appreciated his and Sherlock's presence. Sherlock drove her crazy, but with the Doctor around he was more bearable. John Watson was also a good man and she didn't really harbor him any ill will.

It turned out she needn't say anything, for at the end of the tirade Sherlock had strode over to the pair and looked intently at Anderson with a blistering fury.

"Oh, if it isn't the great detective himself. Come to tell me you know what boxers I wear?" Anderson sniffed haughtily. Sherlock grabbed his collar and drew him up against the wall and everyone watched in awe as he defended his friend.

"Listen here you stupid simplistic idiotic stuck up sod. John Watson is ten thousand times the man you'll ever be and infinitely more intelligent than your feeble mind can handle. He got shot saving the lives of soldiers in the battlefield and chose to work for the military to support his country instead of living the cozy little life that you live here. Not only that, but upon his return he is given nothing but a discharge and a meager pension substantially small for so great a sacrifice. I know no one more kind and noble and he also just took a bullet for me, so you will give him the respect he deserves. Understand?" Sherlock ground out through his teeth. Anderson, about ready to pee his pants, nodded hastily and Sherlock let him drop back to the ground.

"By the way, you don't wear boxers, you wear briefs in a desperate cry for attention, pretty pathetic if I do say so myself."

Then he left and called for a taxi as the Yarders looked on in amazement. No one ever had the guts to say anything bad about Doctor Watson again aloud for fear that Sherlock might hear and come to extract his vengeance for the underserved and untrue remark.


	2. Chapter 2

Of Wanting Ice Cream

Some days were just rubbish. John seemed to experience those days more than others though, and it was completely unfair. He had missed the alarm after being so worn out by running after Sherlock the night before. Sarah had told him that while he was a right good doctor, he had better learn to be on time. Being late had meant being given the undesirable patients such as the hypochondriacs, people with feet issues, and flu bugs. He also was around ten cases of strep, two people with the measles, and three mumps patients. All in all it was busy, but bearable, until he had to take over the late shift and was interrupted every five minutes by texts from his demanding flat mate of wondering where he was and reports of various destructions of furniture. By 10 o'clock all he wanted was to sit down but he had to run and get a replacement for the toaster as a toasting of toes had gone wrong. Why did he toast toes? John had no idea. By the time he stumbled into Baker Street it was 11:30 because he had had yet another altercation with the machine in the store and had to wait for the only young man in the shop to be able to help him.

He was tired and when he finally staggered in the door he set the toaster on the table and fell into his chair with a loud "thud" in its pillows.

"John? JOHN!" Sherlock roared from the kitchen, not bothering to turn his back.

"What?!" He jolted at the almost panic in his friend's voice.

"Did you get it?!"

"What?"

"Did you get the toaster? And some milk?"

"Milk, you didn't say we ran out!"

"I thought you knew! I need milk for my next experiment! Get me some!" Now John Watson considered himself patient to the extreme, but enough was enough.

"You want milk? Get it yourself! I don't care how 'domestic' it is! I am tired of waiting upon you hand and foot. I am _not _your keeper! Did you ever think that I may just want to be able to come home without having to cater to a sociopathic flat mate who has the maturity of a twelve year old? You know what I want for a change? I want you to shut up about how bored you are and how I need to entertain you. I want to rest! I have had a rubbish day and it was thanks to _your _running me around yesterday! I want to have a great big bowl of ice cream and just sleep!"

"John-"  
"Don't give me that! I'm going to bed!" With that, an exhausted Dr. Watson retired to bed.

Later that night at around 4 AM John heard a knock at the door, then without a response it opened.

"John?" He awoke with a start.

"Sherlock, what the heck-"John started.

"I came to apologize." He said. John blinked in confusion.

"It was wrong of me to require something of you when you were so obviously tired. I am sorry."

"Look Sherlock, about my rant-"But Sherlock interrupted.  
"I bought you something." He plunked a bag upon him and he shivered. He saw Sherlock looking at him in anticipation, that of a child looking forward to his friend opening a birthday present. Inside were ten tubs of ice cream.

"What?"

"I didn't know your favorite flavor so I got a bunch." He said as though it were obvious. "Do you forgive me?"

"Sherlock, I- oh for heaven's sake. I'm sorry for blowing up on you. I was just tired. Of course I forgive you." He got a small smile and Sherlock turned to leave.

"But before I can fully forgive, I need your help on something." Sherlock looked back in confusion now, wondering what John could possibly want. "You have to help me eat all this ice cream." He smiled at Sherlock who grinned in response and went to go get two spoons. After they were half way into their first tub they both needed a break.  
"Sherlock? I'm curious about one thing though. Where on Earth does all our milk go?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Look on my profile. I am a Christian. This was not written to offend but to spread my views and also in canon both Holmes and Watson (I mean the 1800's canon on whom the modern characters were created) at least acknowledged a belief in God. I like to think the modern John is still Christian and this is how I imagine Sherlock might be inclined to pay attention to those beliefs. If this offends you then please just don't read. Thank you. **

Of the Faith of John

It had been earlier that week that Sherlock had found out something that surprised him about John Watson. The man was a Christian.

Now Sherlock had nothing against people who had religions, unless they were openly hostile to him who did not believe in any deity or, as he put it, tried to annoyingly convert him. He just thought that they were perhaps ignorant (on purpose or just a part of their nature, he wasn't sure) and a bit dull for believing what in what he thought was essentially used as a genie in a bottle. Whenever something happened people would just pray and they believed every care in the world would be taken care of. How is that at all reasonable?

As he was one morning bored he decided to walk in on John's private time. John had already at some point related to him why he wanted that time alone, but he had ignored him and deleted all other information regarding the subject except for the fact that John would be very cross with him if he didn't respect at least thirty minutes of that one hour. Even he understood the importance of not deleting anything that would make John mad.

At exactly thirty one minutes past 6 he had walked in on the soldier who was sitting in an arm chair, intent on whatever he was reading.

"John." Sherlock had greeted. John had just ignored him.

"John?" Sherlock asked, this time curious as to what occupied his flat mate's attention.

"Mm?" John asked, not looking up from his reading.

"What are you reading?" Sherlock asked. No response. Sherlock walked over and plucked the leather-bound heavy book from his hands. John gave a start and an annoyed squawk of protest.

"Hey-" He had expected it to be an old medical textbook or stories written by an old author named Sir Arthur Conan Doyle whose mysteries and characters John said reminded him of déjà vu and truly had sparked his interest for a while. Sherlock had scoffed at the old style of writing and frivolous story telling. Now he glanced at the cover and furrowed his brow in confusion.

"The Holy Bible?" Sherlock asked, trying to keep himself from laughing. Honestly, John was wasting his time with this?

"Yes, Sherlock. You know. The Word of God? Jesus Christ and all that?"

"Yes, I have heard you utter that name several times, however it is usually when swearing." John rolled his eyes.

"May I have it back please?"

"Why are you reading this?"

"Reading thi- Sherlock, I'm a Christian. We tend to have a habit of reading the Bible." This made Sherlock look up from his studying of the text to his friend and now the confused look was back again.

"Since when?"

"Well, usually once you become one. Pastors tend to encourage it-"

"I meant since when are you, John Watson, a Christian."

"Sherlock, I have been since I was ten. Went to a summer camp and got saved." Sherlock now rolled his eyes.

"But didn't you gain any common sense as you got older? In school you were taught the basics. As a medical man you obviously had to take science courses. How could you not see the evidence?"

"Of what?"

"There is no God, John. That's a fiction primitive and less advanced minds buy into."

Ironically as Sherlock looked into the Book again he saw the underlining of a passage that read:

"The fool says in his heart, "There is no God." They are corrupt, their deeds are vile; there is no one who does good."* (Psalms 14:1)

He snapped it shut and then tossed it back to John who caught it and looked a bit offended.

"Well, thank you very much for going beyond insulting just my intelligence but also the most cherished of the beliefs I hold."

"Come on John, the evidence is astounding."

"Like?"

"Evolution for one. There is clear scientific evidence of shared DNA and homologous structures. Even vestigial structures that all point to evolution as the natural course for life to have taken."

"Sherlock, of course I have heard the evidence. I'm a doctor, biology happens to be a large part of anatomy." John replied hotly. "The thing is, well let's try this. Darwinists believe that we all descended from a lower life form right? Now I don't know if that's true for sure, it is a theory and yes the evidence for it seems to be rather strong, but what about things like transitional species? The complexity of the cell means that if one thing within it is wrong, everything doesn't function. It all shuts down. So that leaves little room for huge mutations like fish suddenly growing legs, unless they are _created_ that way. Common DNA and structure can just as much mean a common _Creator_ like a label on cookware means it comes from the same manufacturer. Does that necessarily mean that a teaspoon will evolve over an extended period of time into a pot?" Sherlock was about to rebuttal but John wasn't finished.

"Let's say you're right. All life evolved. Does that necessarily disprove something caused the first to originate or helped guide the process? Which seems more logical to assume? That all life came from nothing spontaneously, or that Something started it all? I don't have enough faith to believe that. I don't have enough faith to be an atheist."

"Well John, that certainly is a rather naïve and romantic statement." Sherlock retorted. John just shook his head.

"You don't get it. You haven't been in a spot where you really need a friend like that, when no one is around. I was in the army and nearly died, several times. In all those times some men turned to drugs, others tried suicide. I got comfort from the Word of God." He opened the Book to another verse and looked at it. Sherlock saw tints crimson on the page. "I felt safe and secure, Sherlock, and loved. Ever since I was a boy I have tried to follow the words in this Book. I would be very pleased if you wouldn't insult me again for having faith in there being a good and merciful God out there who cares about me."

"I'm sorry John. I will endeavor not to bother you about it again."

A few days later Sherlock found himself sitting beside the hospital bed of his friend who had been poisoned from their recent case, looking into the death of a Victor Savage who had been killed by a man by the name of Culverton Smith. The poison had been for Sherlock; unfortunately the doctor had been the recipient on the end of the needle.

"You won't die Holmes. You'll be forced to fall into a coma, one from which you more than likely will never wake. Imagine: all that genius never to be used again, to sit idle forever as you are nothing better than a sitting vegetable." Smith's words rang in his head. Sherlock shook his head, trying to clear the taunts. John had used his body to protect Sherlock and keep him from the dosage. Lestrade had barely made it through the door as the needle had entered the toxin into his veins.

By the bedside Sherlock contemplated the words of the doctor that had confirmed Smith's declaration. Only by a miracle would John wake up. On this Sunday night at 6 when John would be reading his Bible if he was awake, he found himself reading the old Bible aloud to his friend; he was unsure of what else to do.

"You know, John, that reading this is only for your sake. I don't believe one word in it." He had proclaimed as he had started. "Maybe you'll wake up if I pronounce the names wrong or something and scold me to be more respectful."

As he continued to read he came upon a verse that haunted him.

"My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?" (Psalm 22:1).

Later in the same Psalm it read:

6 But I am a worm and not a man,  
scorned by everyone, despised by the people.  
7 All who see me mock me;  
they hurl insults, shaking their heads.  
8 "He trusts in the Lord," they say,  
"let the Lord rescue him.  
Let him deliver him,  
since he delights in him."

To try and lighten the mood he switched to another verse in John 15:

13 Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends.

He felt guilt overwhelm him and the words stuck in his mind as he looked down at his unconscious friend. John truly did care for him, more than his own life. He had proved that over and over again.

Lastly he idly flipped to a few more verses in Psalm and a few in Mathew:

**Psalm 27**

**Of David.**

1 The Lord is my light and my salvation—  
whom shall I fear?  
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—  
of whom shall I be afraid?

2 When the wicked advance against me  
to devour me,  
it is my enemies and my foes  
who will stumble and fall.  
3 Though an army besiege me,  
my heart will not fear;  
though war break out against me,  
even then I will be confident.

**Matthew 18:**

19 "Again, truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven."

Sherlock sat to contemplate all he had read. It was something to occupy his thoughts, if nothing else.

John believed these words to be true. If John, who was certainly no idiot, believed that prayer could help, why not try it? He already knew Mrs. Hudson had said she would be praying for him, so that would count as one. Two?

Sherlock let down his guard for just a moment. Praying couldn't hurt anything. It could, if John was right, help things. And so Sherlock Holmes found himself rather sheepishly praying.

"Um, hello. I-I'm not sure how this is supposed to work. It has been a while since Mummy made me and Mycroft say our evening prayers…" Sherlock rambled. "I suppose, what I mean to say is- Would You just help him? Guide him home? I mean if You are even there. I'm still not wholly convinced but John seems to think you're there, so I figured that it couldn't hurt to try. I'm a bit desperate at the moment." Something within Sherlock stirred then, prompted him to continue. "It said in that Bible thing, that those who trust in You shouldn't fear. Well, John trusts in You and right now he could really use Your help."

With that he sat back and folded his hands, entered into his Mind Palace and tried to delete all the emotions he was feeling right now.

"Sherlock?" He heard someone calling to him, shaking him slightly. "Sherlock?" He jolted awake. There in the flesh was John Watson, staring at his friend, fully awake.

"John?"

"What happened? Why am I here?"

"John?" Sherlock asked again, not quite believing it.

"Sherlock what-" and then the nurse entered.

"We need you to leave Mr. Holmes, visiting hours are-" She stopped, took one look at John and yelled out into the hallway.

"I need help in here!" As the doctors and nurses swarmed around a confused John Watson, Sherlock felt that there may be something to this prayer thing after all that he should look further into.


End file.
